


In The Cold Of Night

by idiosyncraticWordsmith (literaryAspirant)



Category: Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-20 21:20:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11343390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryAspirant/pseuds/idiosyncraticWordsmith
Summary: The Blight has been over for months, the rightful King has been crowned, and the Hero of Ferelden commands the Wardens in Amaranthine. As the Warden-Commander visits his old friend to report on the dire straits in his new arling, the two share a warm meal and revelry to escape the chaos of the present - but neither can ignore the dark dealings which purchased them their lives, nor can the Commander ignore the special kind of pain those dealings brought upon him...





	In The Cold Of Night

**Author's Note:**

> Just a one-shot that I churned out while playing Awakening. I have NOT finished Awakening yet, or any of the DLC that follows it (I know that Witch Hunt is a thing, I have it downloaded, that's actually why this story came to me to begin with) so if you choose to comment (please do!!) avoid spoilers.

It was just like the two of them to break all of the rules.

The King of Ferelden and the same nation’s Commander of the Grey were a pair that were naturally expected to spend time together every so often, even enjoy a dinner together perhaps - but not, traditionally, having said dinner on the veranda of the king’s royal suites on a cool summer evening. Such a private setting was normally considered inappropriate for their professional relationship, and would not be warranted under any normal circumstances.

But these could hardly be counted as normal circumstances. A human king dining with an elf wasn’t normal. Said king being a bastard, placed on the throne by said elf, wasn’t normal. Said elf being hailed as the greatest hero of the age was certainly not normal.

And a Blight being ended without a Warden dying - that was beyond abnormal. That was suspicious.

But they did not talk of these things. Neither paid any mind to the implicit crown upon one’s head or the pointed ears of the other, and the circumstances of their mutual survival were buried deep in the back corners of their minds. Instead, they talked of fond memories, made fonder by the influence of a glass or two of wine, and enjoyed each other’s company, not as King and Commander, but as friends.

“I still can’t bloody believe Oghren, of all bloody oafs, went and joined the Wardens,” Alistair remarked.

“Andraste’s blood, I swear it,” Darrian, the Warden-Commander, said. “The little glutton even complained that the goblet was too bloody small! Took his swig and just said ‘not bad.’ Not bad, he says!”

Alistair laughed heartily. “Knowing him, even darkspawn blood can’t have been the worst thing he’s ever drank.”

“Well it’s certainly the worst thing I’ve ever drank, that still holds true,” Darrian affirmed. “I still had the taste in my mouth when I sung my dagger into that ogre’s eye, up in the Tower of Ishal. I remember the first thing I thought when I woke up in Flemeth’s hut was ‘oh, the taste is gone’ - followed by ‘wait, am  _I_  gone?”

“Well, thank the Maker you weren’t,” Alistair said, his tone becoming more somber. “I can’t imagine the Blight ending as well as it did without you.”

Darrian shrugged. “It was a team effort. I relied on you - all of you, Wynne, Zevran, Leliana, even Sten and...” Darrian trailed off for a moment. “Morrigan.”

The pause did not go unnoticed by King Alistair. “Have you... been thinking about her? It’s been a few months,” Alistair asked.

“...She’s crossed my mind once or twice,” Darrian understated, sipping his wine.

“Do you think all of this business with these talking darkspawn might be connected to... it?” Alistair asked. 

The atmosphere of the dinner had grown much graver with the reference to the events troubling Darrian’s new arling. He had come to Denerim only briefly, to report on the recovery of the Vigil and the little that Darrian had uncovered about Amaranthine’s darkspawn problem. The connection to the deal made the night before the attack on Denerim was not a new idea to him, but he hadn’t wanted to discuss it openly, even with the only other person who knew of that deal.

“I... had considered that,” Darrian admitted. “It’s too soon for her to have delivered a normal child, but who knows how this... thing, develops,” he said. He didn’t like referring to the child as a ‘thing,’ but Morrigan herself said that it could hardly be called a child. He knew no other word for it.

“I’ve thought about her,” Alistair confessed. “Quite a lot.”

“And here I thought you would’ve been glad to keep her out of your life for good now,” Alistair cracked. The humor did not do much for the mood.

“I’ve been thinking more about the child,” Alistair explained. “Her plans for it, what could happen with it. Whether or not we made the right choice.”

“Whether or not  _I_  made the right choice,” Darrian corrected. “It’s impossible to say. Frankly, I’ve more reason to believe some other force is at play. Morrigan wanted to disappear. She wouldn’t have done anything to rouse the darkspawn like this.”

“To your knowledge,” Alistair pointed out. “And even if your trust in her is well-placed - which, I should like to remind you, is not something I’ve  _ever_  been convinced of - it may have been out of her power to stop her spawn from devising its own plans. Its what she and her kind do, you know, plot and scheme and such things.”

“You do know you’re speaking of my child and its mother,” Darrian reminded pointedly.

“I’m also speaking of a being conceived with the essence of an archdemon and the witch that brought it into the world, or will, at any rate,” Alistair fired back.

Darrian took a deep breath, calming himself, and reminding himself that Alistair was right. “Still. I’ve encountered no reason to believe Morrigan or her babe is involved. That’s on my own honor.”

“Then I suppose I’ll trust your judgment,” Alistair conceded.

A quiet fell over the two of them. Neither continued eating - nor did they have the appetite to, anyway - but nor did they speak. Darrian had no further wish to continue on this topic, but Alistair had a question in his mind. It squirmed in the dark of his thoughts, struggling against his hesitation to be released. He was losing the fight against it. Finally, it was asked, almost against his will.

“Did you love her?”

Stillness accompanied the quiet now. Darrian processed the question, looking at his king and friend. He took a moment, then stood up and walked slowly over to the edge of the veranda, leaning on the rail of the balcony. He stared out at the city of Denerim - recovering quickly from the attack, and glowing gently beneath the stars. It was like Man was trying to emulate the heavens made by their Maker. Darrian could not tell if it more evoked the image of a child imitating their parent, or the Tevinter Magister Lords trying to conquer Heaven.

“She asked me a similar question, once,” Darrian finally said. “After we killed Flemeth for her. She was moved by the friendship we had made, and asked if I thought we could ever be more.”

“What did you tell her?” Alistair asked. It was a curiosity he had long denied finally being sated - with the first question asked, he could not hold back more.

“I told her it was possible, under the right circumstances,” Darrian answered.

“And... what were those circumstances?” Alistair pressed. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but hearing his friend admit to even the possibility of a... connection, with the Witch of the Wilds was not something he was expecting.

“Well, the lack of a Blight, for one thing,” Darrian joked. “But also... better understanding. More openness. More  _kindness_. I saw glimmers of goodness in her, despite all the  _horrible_  things she said.”

“You saw the person she could’ve been,” Alistair noted. “That was always a gift of yours. Or curse. Depending on the situation.”

Darrian smiled at that. “Yes, I suppose so. After Flemeth died, I thought I could finally get through to her, that we could trust each other, that I could show her the world didn’t have to be as Flemeth imagined it.”

“And then she came to your bed chamber and told you she was going to disappear forever, child or no,” Alistair said. Darrian sighed.

“Yes. Even if our friendship was genuine, learning that everything between us had been... a plot, a scheme, a means to an end...” Darrian trailed off once more.

“It broke your heart, didn’t it?” Alistair finished for him. Darrian turned and gave a sad smile, his eyes glistening gently with pooling tears. It was enough to answer the question without a word.

“I suppose that’s evidence enough to answer your first question, isn’t it?” Darrian said, turning back to the stars. “I don’t know if I loved her. But I loved  _something_  about her. Maybe that something was real, maybe it wasn’t. All the same, I suppose you  _were_  right to warn me against her, if only in one regard.”

Alistair rose at this point, and walked over to his friend, placing a hand on his shoulder in comfort. “I am sorry. It’s... I can’t imagine, how you feel...”

“Heh... it doesn’t matter. I’m a Warden,” Darrian said, adopting a more erect, dutiful posture. “If I can stand being thrown up on by a broodmother and incinerated by an archdemon, I can soldier past a broken heart.”

“Have you ever thought about finding her? Tracking her down?” Alistair inquired. “You’ve the Wardens and the Crown behind you,” he reminded.

“Maybe, but I’ve also got a small army of darkspawn and a lance of angry nobles in front of me,” Darrian recalled. “Both of which I have to return to in the morning. Besides, Morrigan told me part of the deal was to never follow her, and with Flemeth gone, I don’t even know where I’d start.”

“Still,” Alistair insisted, “It’s not like there’s necessarily a time limit on it. Once things in Amaranthine have settled, we can talk about it more. We’ve got a whole kingdom’s worth of resources to call on, plus all the lore of the Wardens. If you want to find her, Darrian, you can. Maker knows you’ve more than earned the right to get some answers from the mother of your only child - and see the damned babe, even if it is some kind of horror.”

Darrian chuckled, and placed his own hand on Alistairs back, so that their held a mutual connection of brotherhood. “Being able to be with you still makes that abomination of a child of mine worth it, I think,” Darrian admitted.

“I feel the same way, my friend,” Alistair affirmed. “Though don’t get me wrong, if the creature tries to take over the world, I won’t hesitate to run it through. No offense to your bloodline,” he half-joked.

“None taken,” Darrian replied. “Come,” he went on, breaking the half-embrace, “let us rest. I have a long journey ahead of me.”

“That you do, my brother,” Alistair agreed, walking with Darrian back into the warmth of the keep and away from the cold night air. “That you do.”


End file.
